


Memoirs of my Brothers

by beautifullyheeled



Category: MASH (1970), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4798670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullyheeled/pseuds/beautifullyheeled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Members of the 4077th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital care for the injured during the Korean War and use humor to escape from the horror and depression of the situation. Among the 4077's people are Capts. Sherlock "The Dick" Holmes and "Three-C" John Watson, Majs. Sally "Hot Hips" Donovan and Philip Anderson, and Cpl. Molly "Radar" Hooper. Watch along as they learn to laugh and love between bombs and blood.-TV GUIDE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Heart is Heavy and the Air is Thin

**Author's Note:**

> Short Chapter for a first one from me, and I know, and apologise. I'm having some minor tech issues that have been resolved, but lead to this being up late. Postings will be on Saturday Nights about 10pm PST.
> 
> That being said, I'm excited to get first one out so we can really get to it.
> 
> Please be aware that it will have discussion of severe violence, surgical discussion and operating theater scenes, as well as anti-war and anti-government sentiment, dark humour that may offend some. On the same note, language/discussion that will not be suitable for children under 15 has earned this fic an explicit, as much as the few quick sex scenes involved.
> 
> Please take all of this into consideration before you hop on board to read. This is not meant to have you avoid the fic, but to take a moment and discuss it honestly. 
> 
> This first chapter is miles lighter than the rest will be.
> 
> Love and Light-Bo
> 
> Post Script:  
> There is also a soundtrack for this fic, which I will be posting with this coming Saturday's chapter, Yankee Doodle Doctor

Through early morning fog I see  
visions of the things to be  
the pains that are withheld for me  
I realize and I can see...  
that suicide is painless  
it brings on many changes  
and I can take or leave it if I please.  
I try to find a way to make  
all our little joys relate  
without that ever-present hate  
but now I know that it's too late, and...

The game of life is hard to play  
I'm gonna lose it anyway  
The losing card I'll someday lay  
so this is all I have to say.

The only way to win is cheat  
And lay it down before I'm beat  
and to another give my seat  
for that's the only painless feat.  
The sword of time will pierce our skins  
It doesn't hurt when it begins  
But as it works its way on in  
The pain grows stronger...watch it grin, but...

A brave man once requested me  
to answer questions that are key  
is it to be or not to be  
and I replied 'oh why ask me?'  
'Cause suicide is painless  
it brings on many changes  
and I can take or leave it if I please.  
...and you can do the same thing if you please.

Main Theme Song: Suicide is Painless  
Songwriters: MANDEL, JOHNNY / ALTMAN, MICHAEL B  
Version: Manic Street Preachers  
https://youtu.be/oVL2u9FX4v4  
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Captain William Scott Sherlock Homes V, was not pleased at the rise of events that had lead him to a one way ticket to a mobile military hospital. It was true, that his expertise, as well as his lack of compunction would come into play in this forward operating base, he was loathe to be so near the violence of it all. Not the men coming in he would see die, or the vociferousness of their wounds that he would try to mend, no it was the side arm he had been requisitioned that gave him pause. Though willing to do what he could do from an intelligence standpoint, something that exercised his brain as it would go to rot if left to boredom, would almost be re-welcomed into his life at this point. This though, was most certainly not that.

This was not counterintelligence. No, this was pennace.

His fingers were always nimble and at the ready, whether in an operating theatre or playing his beloved violin, he was certain the former would gain him respect the later much ire as had been had at his last set of dorms. Sherlock knew he would be sharing a bivouac with two others, possibly three. It was hateful. He would have to get 'on their good side' and 'play nice with others' in order to show his contrition, of which, their was none to be had. Not his fault that he stumbled on that nest of Vipers who had been funneling intelligence to the United States media conglomerates. Magnussen was as oiled and as dangerous as any adversary he had ever had the pleasure of taking down. The man had made his skin crawl, all dead-eyed and cock-sure, to borrow the Americanism. How was he to know that he was also holding secrets on most of the British Monarchy as well as several other high-powered individuals not only in the United Kingdom, but elsewhere?

At the very minimum, the bastard had paid his pound of flesh in the end.

Guns. So inelegant. So- brutal.

What he wouldn't give for the days of mayhem and locked room triple homicides in his City.

As the base came into view, Sherlock found himself almost ill. It was not the sparsity of the rambling thing that now had him on edge, it was the 'welcoming' party. Three to be exact. Forward Commander, Chief Surgeon, and someone who looked little more than a boy. American, too, he'd bet. Wonderful. Americans. Loud fractious undulant parties- well maybe his violin at three in the morning when he couldn't sleep might not be as hate-inducing as he first thought.

Was that a- fishing hat on the Commander's head?

“Captain Holmes! Great to have you on such short notice! I’m Lieutenant Colonel Gregory Lestrade, Greg if you please. This is Captain John Watson, the best damn vascular surgeon I’ve ever seen, you’ll be bunked together and elbow to elbow soon enough. Come on, boys, let’s get some liquor in us while we can. Radar,-”

The young man, Radar, interrupted immediately finishing Greg’s statement for him. “I’ll go ahead and get the brandy and cigars, yes, sir.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but to quip a ghost of a smile at the impertanence and seeming garrulousness of his welcome. Even with the laid back demeanor, he could tell by the callus on their hands and the creasing of their faces, that they were worn from a hard night previously, but knew when to celebrate and use their off time in their own pursuits. Greg, writing and fishing, well creating fanciful hooks for use at a later time. John though, he was a hard nut to crack. Obviously a bit of a womaniser, more likely that he was an easy lover ready for a tussle. Well read, crack shot, competent physician.

“Thank you Greg, tell me, how long has your wife been cheating?”

\-------------------------

_Mrs. Hudson,_

_You've asked me to explain the hospital in another way, not one that 'sugar-coats' how it is out here in ‘the wilds’. I did not mean to keep you from the horrors of what we see, as you are used to the state of my kitchen and the morbidity of the cases that I had taken on before being called up and entered into Her Majesty's Service. I had yet to experience the rush of incoming and the frenzy to get all bodies accounted for and treated to our quickest abilities. I can state that most of the wounded we have seen have made it long enough to be transferred out of our care and airlifted to the safety of our closest primary base. Dr. Watson, also known as ‘3C’, has moved me to immediate incoming diagnosis, which is no surprise and proves the man is no fool. I have yet to fully understand him, which as you might imagine, is disconcerting._

_The worst so far has been the children. Not their ailments, though that bothers as well, it is the lack of compassion that these people receive. They sell their older children to become used as ‘mules’, basic human traffic and slavery, to help support the rest of their family. I have been told that many villages do this, though it is not often. Yet. We have seen once such case, and the young girl now resides with the nurses and is being taught basic assisting skills. There may be a future for her that is not here in the intemperate place. Speaking of children, we have a young man, not a mule, who has been here for three years being taught under most of the staff here. Sort of a mascot and a small ray of hope. I’ve just sent a letter of recommendation, and hope that King’s might accept him on. If not, then I will try Bart’s. Unlikely of them to turn down a Holmes, but when there is illogical war-time driven sentiment... we shall see. So keep your lower set of rooms ready, you might have a new boarder soon._

_Missing London, SH_


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey, Holmes, you going to go over to mass later? It seems something a posh called up would do." The Major continued snidely to the nurse on his left. He was obviously unhappy with the chain of events that brought the new surgeon into their midst. "Private practice, not likely to have seen very much of this." 

Philip Anderson, resident buffoon, Holmes’ mind supplied. Small snippets about the man shimmered around him quickly in lightning fast deductions. Married, no children. Posh himself, but also spoilt by parents. Only child. Middling surgeon, rushes to prove himself. Inferiority complex, covers with general smarmy attitude. Currently having an affair with nurse to his left.

Sally Donovan, Head Nurse, worked hard for her position. Raised by both parents in solidly middle-class home, two siblings. She is the oldest child. Proud. Not looking too ever have children, but enjoys the company of men within monogamous boundaries. Career driven. Has potential. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes in a childish manner at the comment, it was enough that he had to live in this hellish place, did the people have to be so shallow? So one-dimensional? Boorish. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t just been up on their feet for fourteen hours straight, up to his elbows in some instances in the bodies of men younger than him. They were still covered in gore from the operating theatre, and here, the acridic tit was already backbiting him as they pulled off their surgical attire.

“Anderson, it would be wise of you to shut your mouth and let the adults have a moment of introspection for the lives lost today and to be able to think on the ones still here through sheer determination. We’ve just fought at Hell’s gate for, what? About twelve, fourteen hours? Shut it will you.” John Watson, vascular specialty, small hands, ambidextrous but dominant left, had roughly pulled off his surgical mask as he dressed Anderson down. “Give Holmes a break, will you. He’s a damn fine surgeon and a compliment to our unit. Now kindly shut the fuck up and go bury your dick in something warm and stick a tit in your mouth to shut you up, why don’t you?”

“John, you had better mind your mouth, and your temper along with it,” Donovan had jumped into the fray. Interesting. “Philip is still ranked above you and I’m sure that Greg would hate to see us lose you to the MP’s for insubordination-”

“Oh, fighting for him now, are we?” John quipped back, the tight smile across his lips just this side of too calm. “Letting him see you fired up this way for your little tête-à-tête later? This putting wind in your sails, Philip? Come on, Holmes, let's get you properly settled-”

They walked out of the O.R. 'sterile area', and towards the main part of camp, Sherlock's mind still preoccupied with sorting and compartmentalising each of the men whom he had worked on. He walked alongside John, trusting him to guide them to wherever they were meant to wind up at the end of their sojourn through camp. Most likely given location their barracks. Twenty eight hours wasn’t the longest he’d ever stayed conscience for, but never had the hours been so grueling. His thoughts kept snagging on themselves. He felt as if he’d been dragged over gravel and fed sand for almost every one of the last several hours. 

“Adrenalin crashing already, Holmes? Come on, stay with me.” A warm arm wound its way around Sherlock’s neck as he trudged. “I’ll get you a shaken and dirtied and pour you and it into bed, alright? Just a bit further.”

"Oh, John, do you say that to all your bunkmates? Whatever will people say?" Sherlock wry smile flicked across his tired face as he childishly rolled his eyes. "How do they expect us to do this, at this level, with the intense care necessary? And what is this about a crew coming to film?"

"Got to love the rumour mill, they'll have us in Seoul and married in a fortnight the way you're hanging off me." John laughed between them as he pulled away to open their door. "Damn circus that's going to be- the movie, mind."

"I'll be a modest bride, I promise. Just champagne and lilies of the valley for me; can even borrow a dress from Klinger. Pity we aren't the same shoe size, you'd like me in heels I think."

"Just what I need, my intended towering even more over me, though it would give me better access to all those virginal places you've kept from all others." 

He couldn't help but to laugh honestly as John continued their banter. He'd begun stripping his day away and was splashing cold water from the basin onto his face and neck. This ease between them had been immediate which had never occurred in Sherlock's life before this. He chalked it up to a shared gallows humour and the lack of belief in a higher-power to get them out of the Hell they were currently living.

At least they were alive. Patching up boys to send home to their families-

"Shut up." There was warmth in the words that Sherlock chose not to disguise as he dried his torso and accepted the glass from John's hand. "Just not had the time is all- well there was- it doesn't matter. Honestly, women have always been a bit of an unknown. Not really my area."

He watched John carefully, a few simple hidden glances as he spoke. He'd not yet come this far in discussion of his sexuality as it was no one's right to know other than his own; yet, he felt as if being honest with John was important. 

"O-oh. So it's- blokes then?" John had lowered his voice as he turned and took his small towel and dried his face and hands. His cheeks were a little more coloured than Sherlock had expected, but there was no wariness telegraphed in John's movements. "Which is fine, just so you, well, it's all fine here. With me."

"More birds for you, you mean." Sherlock tried at a smile and felt it sit oddly. "That one, Mary, she's quite fetching. Soft. Bit round. She's sweet for you, you know."

"Yes, and also has a fiance back home, ta. Name is David. They're to get married her next leave. It wouldn't be what I want. Bit of a romp, yeah, but then, well, I just wouldn't feel right. I'll set my sights on someone else, thank you very much." He poured them both another drink and sat on his bunk kicking his legs up onto the bed and crossing them at the ankle. "God, let's call it a night while we can. Introspection later. Means we've not enough alcohol and too little sleep, this talk."


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning brought a silence that was remarkably pleasant, no one had died, everyone was healing without heavier than normal houses stacked against them; breakfast was even what could be called passable. Real eggs and damn good coffee. Not that chicory business. Made Sherlock wonder what the black market was like in the area, how infiltrated and what was being passed through it. 

"You're eating." John set down his tray across from him, then settled himself as well. "I'm glad to see it; didn't realise our newest doc was a picky eater."

"Not picky, just letting Molls get her fill-" They both look over to the nurse and her mound of food, mostly toast, but beans, eggs, some veg as well. 

"She was out on supply run again. Deserves a bit of the spoils, don't you think?"

Sherlock looked her over. Willowy, long sable hair up in regulatory bun, clever, knows how to move what where, but not motivated by greed. Little personal gain involved. Children. Oldest sibling. Works with some sort of fiber often.

"Interesting. So she is the criminal mastermind." He had to give it to her, she was unassuming, but affable with everyone it seemed. Made connections and transferred goods to those in the know. "Clever girl."

"She is, and loves to go with the Father to the orphanage closest to us. She knits them things, did you know?"

"Knitting. Always something." 

They continued through breakfast in comfortable company half listening to other conversations flow around them; it had begun to impress Sherlock. How everyone seemed to chatter amongst one another about hair styles and newest surgical methods all in the same breath. He'd never tell anyone, but they almost surprised him. People had always been so drab; so boring. Most here were other than they were trying to ignore the reality yet immersing themselves just enough to always be at the ready. 

"Incoming!" Molly had stood and downed her coffee mere seconds before the actual sound of the helicopters could be heard. She briskly left the mess hall and bee lined towards the communications office. 

"So much for a quiet morning."

~~~~~~~~~~~

_Mrs. Hudson,_

_This missive will be short, but I do know you have impressed upon me the need to keep you 'in the loop', though why news from here bolsters you I haven't clue. Perhaps it is John, 3-C, that has garnered your curiosity, as I have brought him up in the last letter. Yes, he is fully aware that my choice of dancing partner is not always available and seems to not be bothered by my lack of joining in the dances that take place here. Many nights he stays in with me if not on shift and we play poker and he loses terribly as some classical selection plays in our barrack. It is not uncomfortable._

_The movie production that came to base chose yours truely as it's star. No surprise there with the background that I have; I know that to them I am a 'pretty face' and nothing more. Charismatic. Enigmatic. I'd had enough though by the time they were trying to shove their damn cameras in the face of wounded barely being triaged for surgery and asking such asinine questions about how much faith they have in us to pull them through. Even I understand there are limits on the human psyche we must not test at certain times. I went from affable star to right arsehole in a moment. Yes, how very human of me. These are boys, not men, that I see on my table. One was no older than sixteen. He'd lied about his age. Oh, he's headed home to his family, worse for wear, but not mentally broken. I told him to see Gregson over at the Met._

_Tonight we get to see the movie in all of it's glory. 3-C and I have the popcorn ready; as he stated, 'It's sure to be a doozy.' Americanisms._

_Missing your scones, SH_

~~~~~~

_Attention! Attention!_

_Barring any new casualties, at 2100 hours, the 4077 will proudly show "Yankee Doodle Doctor: The Surgeons Keeping Our Boys Together" staring our very own Detective Holmes as the lead._

Radar read off the missive, her voice tinny through the speakers spread across the base. Sherlock just tucked his hands deeper into his pockets and grumbled. John and he had broken into the office supply room and destroyed the first ridiculous work of fiction that the war committee had planned on sharing 'back home' with everyone to boost confidence in the war. How such a work would even have done that- 

He was glad for the fact that they had been given permission to film themselves instead. It had taken a call to Mycroft to see it happen; and didn't his brother just love that. He was due to the camp soon, as was one of the conditions to them being allowed to keep 'precious equipment to tinker with' with a promise of 'a very real film that is viewable for general populace'. Sherlock found himself hoping if there was any trouble that he would be willing to deflect it towards himself alone.

Sentiment. Lovely. Absolutely exactly what he needed smack dab in this forsaken little corner of the world. As he opened the door to the barracks he shared with 3C he found himself hoping that the film made exactly the point they all wanted it to. He was a pacifist. Yes, he knew judo and bartitsu, fencing- these were purely academic aims. The same as his lessons in ballet and free-movement jazz had been, and hadn't those establishments proved enlightening in his formative years. This small act of non-violent protest would give a laugh to everyone enlisted, possibly piss his brother of properly, and probably have him end up in the 'hoosegow' with MP's rogering his ass for anti-war sentiment. 

Hopefully not. 

"Hey, Dick, you okay, mate?" John's head was tilted and his hands were slowly taking away the beaker with the gin as well as his glass. It had over flowed. "This about tonight? Come on, it'll be fine. We'll lubricate it with some of Lestrade's real liqueur and those contraband cakes that Radar already has stashed away. We did the right thing. Brilliant idea. Fuck the MP's. Fuck your brother and every white collared arse who sent us here. Got the popcorn already in the mess, too bad we couldn't wrangle some real, honest to Christ Coca Cola from the Americans two weeks ago in that trade. Let's go to the movies, darling."

"That name, it's dreadful." He spoke as he pulled on his drab coloured coat and then looked to his arms before his irritation rose and he yanked it off once again in favor for the polished cotton Polynesian printed shirt that hung on the metal post at the end of the bed. "Might as well call me Prick, as it is, instead of hiding your opinion behind yet another Americanism. They are ruining the language, thieving magpies!"

"Down boy, no need to spoil for a fight before it's there."


End file.
